


Higher Than Heaven

by CreatorOfDimensions



Series: The Northern Cold AUs [2]
Category: From The Heights
Genre: M/M, can i make it any more obvious, daniel a naive religious nut, frode is a metalhead, reverse!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8820940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatorOfDimensions/pseuds/CreatorOfDimensions
Summary: Daniel never felt like he was cut out for missionary work, but the ginger metalhead that doesn't bother to put on pants to open the door keeps him coming back to a certain neighbourhood downtown.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my pal ikkanrana at tumblr. Link to the art that started it all: http://thenortherncold.tumblr.com/post/154347801904/wimey-more-reverseau-sinning-going-on-with

With an unholy amount of trepidation, Daniel crossed the street into a rather worn out part of town. It wasn’t the group of tough-looking guys crowding around their modified motorcycles that made him nervous, but rather the memory of what he’d experienced the last time he’d gone door to door for missionary work in this neighbourhood. 

It had been six confusing months since coming face to face with a ginger giant he’d come to refer to in his head as Metal Jesus, because of the typical beard and long hair he sported. Metal Jesus had answered the door looking like he’d woken up in the middle of the day, wearing a sleeveless band shirt and boxer briefs and nothing else. Of all the strange people he had seen that day, Daniel had the most trouble forgetting him. Forgetting about wide, freckled shoulders and thick, well-defined legs covered in ginger hair.

The scary part about entering this neighbourhood lay in a potential second encounter and finding that the fascination persisted.

Daniel had known there was something off about his tastes for a long time. Ever since the twins began whispering in the dark about wanting to kiss boys from church he found himself silently agreeing with the sentiment. He never tried, even though he picked out his school buddy Espen as a likely candidate ages ago. Now, crossing the street with copies of The Guardtower clutched to his chest, all he could think about was kissing Metal Jesus.

He’d never felt so uncomfortable in his life; in his clothes, in his skin. The gold chain of the cross pendant around his neck chafed under his suit, and he imagined his sweat stained the pits of his white dress shirt. His left heel started to blister in his relatively new pair of Oxford shoes. Daniel raked a hand through his hair and halted to look around. It had been here somewhere.

He caught his reflection in someone’s dark window. The guy staring back at him was a virtual stranger. He took in the stark suit and his immaculately side-parted hair. A thirteen-a-dozen religious nut.

Halfway down the street, a bin standing near the pavement in an overgrown front yard gave Daniel an idea. He shuffled up to it, trying to spare his smarting left foot, and surreptitiously dumped all the Guardtower copies in it.

‘Hey. Paper doesn’t go in there,’ called a low voice.  

Daniel spun around, heart beating in his throat. He saw no one. Had he imagined the voice? Conjured it up with his guilty conscience? He studied the open window on the first floor of the house and stood rooted to the pavement in indecision for a moment.

The door at the end of the yard opened, revealing the exact person Daniel had been so anxious to meet, or avoid. The sight of Metal Jesus shooting him a wry smile made him feel closer to God than any amount of sermons ever had. Or maybe it wasn’t God. Maybe it was just himself.

Daniel wasn’t stupid. He went to a good school, of course he had his doubts about the whole thing. It just never seemed to make sense to protest when so many people he knew and loved went along with it.

He wordlessly opened his mouth, unsure how to explain his rash action to Metal Jesus. A crisis of faith was no excuse for ignoring basic courtesy.

'You look lost. Want to come inside and not talk about your Lord and Saviour for a while?’ the guy offered.

He looked like Daniel remembered him, though perhaps a bit rougher around the edges. He had his hair in a messy ponytail after very obviously not combing it and wore another sleeveless band shirt over his underwear.

A strange tingle of nervous excitement dropped through the pit of Daniel’s stomach into his lower belly and deeper still, where it spread a hot flush outward.

'I saw you limping down the street,’ said Metal Jesus. 'I’ll make you coffee if you want to sit down for a bit.’  

'Please,’ Daniel croaked.

'Weren’t you here before, back in spring?’ Metal Jesus held the door for him.

Daniel had to squeeze past him, and took the opportunity to breathe in his earthy, unwashed scent.

'Mhmh,’ he confirmed awkwardly. 'You remember?’

'You weren’t very keen to talk about faith, then, either.’

Daniel felt his ears turn red at the memory of shoving a copy of The Guardtower at him and turning on his heel, dumbstruck by the sudden, overwhelming feelings that came tumbling down on him. An unprecedented, undeniably physical attraction, in hindsight.  

The apartment they entered at the top of the stairs was a mess. There was sheet music everywhere, and guitars with different numbers of strings. The ragged sofa was covered in piles of laundry, one giving off the scent of detergent, the other dirty. Metal Jesus made room for Daniel by throwing the dirty pile in a corner on the floor and bringing the clean one to a different room. Daniel sat down gingerly.

'What’s wrong with your leg?’

Daniel winced. 'Blister.’

'Take off your shoes. I’m pretty sure I’ve got blister band aids lying around. I hike a lot.’ Metal Jesus disappeared through another door.

Daniel quickly unlaced his Oxfords and spirited his damp socks away into his leather bag. He rubbed his foot dry on the carpet and smelled it for good measure. It smelled passable.

Metal Jesus returned and knelt in front of the sofa with a box of band aids. He fumbled for a clear one that looked like a gel pad, and took Daniel’s foot in his big hand. Daniel tried not to twitch as he smoothed the band aid over Daniel’s sore heel.

'I'd better get this one, too. The skin looks about to break.’

'Thanks.’ Daniel felt like he needed to sit on his hands for fear of reaching out and touching him inappropriately. He took a deep breath. 'What’s your name? Can’t keep referring to you as Metal Jesus in my head.’

'It’s Frode.’ He laughed, struck by the peculiar symbolism of him having Daniel’s foot in his hands. 'You?’

'Daniel.’

'Daniel,’ Frode repeated to himself. 'Nice to meet you again.'

Daniel’s breath caught in his throat, holding Frode’s gaze as long as he dared. He tried for a smile.

'Right,’ said Frode. 'I promised you coffee.’

He made to get up.

Daniel leaned forward, bringing their faces in dangerous proximity in a split-second decision. Frode’s eyes darted across Daniel’s features. Daniel wet his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. Frode sat very still.

Daniel stretched the last inches to let their lips connect. The bristly hairs of Frode’s beard pricked him. His aim was a bit off, landing on the corner of Frode’s mouth. He breathed in sharply through his nose and let his lips slide into a better position. Frode pushed his body against Daniel’s closed knees, warming them through the fine wool of pressed pants. He opened his mouth slightly to deepen the kiss.

Daniel sat in wonder that his profane desire didn’t physically incinerate him when he pulled back to get his heartbeat under control. His skin fair smouldered, and he half-expected curls of smoke to start rising from blackened patches.

Frode looked at him expectantly, casually inviting Daniel to dive back in. The hand he brought up to loosen the button on Daniel’s jacket was all the permission Daniel needed to put his hands on Frode’s torso and feel him up through the soft fabric of his black shirt.

What would his sisters say, knowing he gave himself to a strange man while they went door to door to evangelise? Daniel drew in a panicked breath imagining it, and what they’d say to their parents, but it passed. He felt too good to be afraid. Frode made him feel fearless. As if God couldn’t see him behind Frode’s broad back.

Though it was difficult to coordinate, Daniel tried not to break contact with Frode’s lips, scrabbling to pull up the hem of his T-shirt. He needed to feel skin under his hands and a tongue in his mouth all at the same time. To make up for eighteen years of puritan upbringing, starved of physical affection and intimacy, he could stand to feel Frode a little closer. He let his knees fall open and slowly leaned back until he felt the back rest of the sofa against his shoulders. Frode followed him, pushing his legs further apart by inserting his body into the space that opened up before him. The pooling heat in Daniel’s lower belly became an insistent throb that the press of Frode’s weight only temporarily relieved.

Thoughts of getting off like he did in the dead of night in his bed crowded the forefront of his mind. The need had never felt more acute. Doing that with another person present, however… He didn't even know where to begin. His parents always maintained he would know what to do on his wedding night.

Frode shifted closer. Daniel could feel Frode’s dick was hard, like his. It seemed less shameful, knowing they both were. He wondered if Frode wanted to be touched there as badly as he did. His hand inched uncertainly towards Frode’s waistband.

Frode hummed against his lips and canted his hips, bumping the head of his dick against Daniel’s hand. Daniel enveloped the length of it as best as he could through the fabric of his shorts. His rapid breathing leveled out a bit when Frode lazily rubbed himself into Daniel’s palm, quite unconcerned about shame or the burden of sin. It was reassuring. The gates of hell had not opened, nor had God flooded Norway in punishment of this depravity.

Frode unbuckled Daniel’s belt and undid his pants, dragging them halfway down Daniel’s thighs. He kissed the sensitive skin on the inside, scratching it softly with his beard in the process.

Daniel reached over to undo his ponytail and run his hands through the long, ginger hair, but Frode stopped him with a gentle touch.

'Leave it like that for another minute,’ Frode said as if he knew something more than Daniel.

He took Daniel’s hand and kissed the palm, then hooked fingers behind the waistband of Daniel’s briefs.

Daniel’s face burned, seeing the print of his erection quite clearly against the white fabric, but it seemed to please Frode, who rubbed his thumb along the length. He followed the same path with his mouth, hot and damp through the thin cotton. Daniel let out a shuddering breath and briefly threw his head back. He didn’t dare watch when Frode pulled his dick free and jerked it for a bit, but craned his neck when something wet and warm brushed the tip.

Frode tongued the underside, taking his time to do what he liked to it, and gauging Daniel’s response. Daniel stared glassy-eyed, trying to keep it together, until a particularly strong wave of arousal caused him to leak a trickle of seminal fluid. He let out a small moan, equal parts alarm and wantonness.  

Frode smeared the clear fluid with a finger. 'You want to come?’

Daniel gave a faint nod. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t do in that moment for Frode to put his mouth on him again. He’d light the church on fire if Frode asked; he’d condemn himself to hell, if only he could have this first.  

Frode’s intense expression took the edge off the embarrassment when Daniel recovered from a climax that had him seeing white light for a minute. His high-strung body twitched under Frode’s touches and kisses for a good minute until he regained his senses.

Frode undid his ponytail like Daniel wanted earlier, and took off his shirt of his own volition. The layer of fat over his intimidating muscle mass gave him a soft, approachable edge. Daniel reached out weakly. He wanted to bury his face in Frode’s chest, but couldn’t summon the energy to sit up. Frode straddled his legs and tilted Daniel’s chin up for a kiss that tasted salty as well as being remarkably wetter than before.

Frode had patience with Daniel sliding hands up his thighs and abdomen to grope his squishy pectorals, but there was only so much he could take.

'Daniel,’ he murmured, guiding one of Daniel’s hands back down.

He pushed the front of his underwear down to expose his dick and allow him better access.

Daniel lowered his gaze, looking away from Frode’s flushed erection.

'Don’t want to?’ Frode asked. It was beyond Daniel how he still managed to sound reassuring.

'Don’t know what to do.’

'Pretty sure you do. Come here. It's easy.’

Frode covered Daniel’s hand with his own and set the pace for sure, slow strokes. He didn’t make a sound, but tensed like a coiled spring under their hands. His forehead came to rest heavily on Daniel’s shoulder as he bucked into Daniel’s fist. When he bit Daniel’s neck it smarted, but Daniel found himself breathlessly asking for it again, for Frode to leave him with marks he could remember this by in the next few days.  

He couldn’t see Frode come, but heard it, and felt it, felt the warm, sticky semen seep between his fingers. He felt a sympathetic echo of it in his own body, which left him satisfied on a whole new level.

Frode’s lips became pliant and plush against Daniel’s cheek. Daniel didn’t know how he could ever summon the will to push him off and leave like he should.

Coffee wasn’t half as awkward as Daniel expected, after. Frode smiled sleepily at him, and washed the stains out of his dress shirt as best he could.

'Can I have your number?’ he asked when Daniel dressed as best as he could without a mirror and headed out.

'Don’t have a mobile. Or even internet at home,’ Daniel confessed regretfully.

'Come see me anytime, then. I’m home a lot during the day.’

'I will,’ Daniel promised.

He met one of his sisters a block away.

'What happened to you?’ asked Mette. Her face pinched in concern when she saw the less-than-composed figure he cut now.

'I got in a bit of a scuffle.'

'Are you okay?’ Mette took his face between her hands. ‘Did they take anything?’

'Nah. Lost my copies of The Guardtower, though.’

He barely had to think about the lie. The sins just kept piling on today.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Find out more about From The Heights and The Northern Cold in general at http://thenortherncold.tumblr.com/  
> And let me just say that if you're reading my stuff, feel free to hit me up any time to talk or send me requests for fic, au's and what have you. <3


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